Please Call
by Jinseinomizu
Summary: While waiting impatiently for Haruhi to call from the US, Kyouya reflects on all that's happened between high school and the present. Kyouya x Haruhi
1. Chapter 1

The clock turned to nine thirty, and Kyouya Ootori clicked the light on his phone for the twentieth time. _Why hasn't she called?_ Running his tongue across his thin lips, he glanced at the door to Aya's room before padding back down the dim hallway.

Twenty whole hours since she'd left. She always forgot to charge her phone, he remembered in irritation; he'd even had to pack her charger himself to make sure she didn't leave it behind. Even if her phone had died during the flight somehow, she should have used a payphone by now, in that charmingly stubborn manner of hers. Thousands of times he'd told her.

_They don't have many payphones in America, Haruhi,_ he'd said, looking at her impassively from behind his glasses as she packed.

_But they must have them in some places,_ she'd smiled and replied._ And if I don't call, don't worry. I'll get to you somehow._ He'd given up the argument then in favor of pulling her onto the bed and kissing her.

But now he regretted it. She should have called by now; he'd told the jet pilot to fly express to Los Angeles. Maybe she fell asleep in the taxi. Or forgot to call when she got to the hotel.

Arriving in the kitchen, he leaned his bare elbows on the wooden counter top. He hadn't gained much weight since high school, and although he was slightly irritated by his svelte figure in comparison with the heftier ones of his associates, Haruhi always told him that she thought he looked fine the way he was. Even his hair, although shorter than it once was, never failed to please her.

From behind the convex surface of his spectacles, he watched his phone screen for any flicker of change and let his mind drift away. In the dusty citadel of memories, he found himself at his own graduation, eight years prior. The lights of the grand hall of Ouran High School were blinding, sticking to his pale skin and bouncing between the bright eyes of the other graduating third-years and the tearful audience. The sounds of the ceremony itself were muted, and he watched himself wear a smile and look happy. But somewhere in his mind, he remembered feeling as if it were all pointless.

However, the sound of the memory slowly faded in as he watched his younger self walk away from the crowd, behind the curtain of the stage, away from the jubilance of that day. After switching back into his ordinary clothes, the younger Kyouya prepared to depart out the back door when he spotted the bouncing blonde head of Suou Tamaki, ever in his element, and the small, vulnerable face of Haruhi enveloped by the crowd. His heart pattered, and he stopped.

"Kyouya-senpai!" The brown head bobbed toward him, and he saw Haruhi forcing her way through the celebrating crowd with some difficulty. When she reached a line where she could not find a hole, he slowly approached and made a way for her to get through. With a smile, she emerged on the other side.

Because of the difficulty that came with his and Tamaki's graduation, Haruhi, Kaoru, and Hikaru had together decided, not without tears, to disband the Host Club. However, that meant that there was no constriction for Haruhi's gender any longer. Thus, she had let her hair grow to softly brush her white neck, and she wore a summer dress selected for her by Kaoru. Altogether, she finally looked like the attractive girl Kyouya had always known she was. And her smile was still enchanting,

The noise made it difficult to hear a full conversation, so he took her arm and led her to an adjoining preparation room, closing the door. Surprisingly, the noise died almost instantly, and they found themselves in a room remarkably similar to the home room of the host club. Memories swirled around the two as they chatted about the graduation and the cultural festival. Kyouya felt himself smiling more than he thought he should, but he couldn't control his face. Finally, they fell into a pause.

"Are you going to miss it, Haruhi?" He turned his grey gaze to her, searching the deep brown pools of her eyes.

"The host club?" In typical Haruhi fashion, she placed a finger against her cheek and looked thoughtful. "I think so. I'll have more time to study now, though, and to spend with friends... and to read... and to apply to universities..."

"So you won't miss it too much." He looked away again, gazing out the window. The light streamed in, illuminating the milling circles of people on the ground below. Today looked and felt like any other day at Ouran- it didn't feel like his last.

"I didn't say that." She lowered her hand and looked in the same direction with a sigh. "I think I will miss it. Being with you and all the others."

His eyes snapped back to her face- her beautiful face. "Are you going to miss the host club," he repeated quietly, "or are you going to miss Tamaki and me?"

She looked back at him then, the question lying in her eyes. Instead of waiting for her answer, he lowered his face to hers, resting his slender hands on her shoulders. "Haruhi... are you going to miss me?"

"Senpai-" He didn't let her finish before he pressed his lips softly against hers, feeling her breath enter his mouth in a gasp. She wasn't the first girl he'd kissed, but _oh_, how long he'd waited to kiss this girl. He let his mouth rest on hers for a few more seconds, and then pulled away, but only a few centimeters. He let his forehead rest against hers, looking over the rims of his glasses at her.

She breathed out, looking up at him. "Kyouya-senpai," she sighed like music. "Kyouya."

"Haruhi," he said in a whisper before taking her lips again, this time opening her mouth gently, teaching her with his tongue. She was shy and understandably modest, but that only made her more endearing and enrapturing. Sliding his hands under her arms, he lifted her into the air, and she gasped for a moment before relaxing in his arms, sliding her own around his neck.

He'd never been happier before that moment.

The dust motes fell from the memory as he relived it, rubbing his forehead with one hand. The phone still hadn't lit, and he still waited for her call. "Call me, Haruhi. Pick up your phone."


	2. Chapter 2

He shoved his glasses up his nose in irritation, huffing a dragon snort as he stirred his tea. The clock hand flicked to ten o'clock, and taking his tea to the study, he prowled the bookshelves for expense reports to review. Something about the columns of numbers usually calmed him down, even if the numbers were bad. It gave him something to vent frustration on.

Haruhi had always hated the study- she said it was too dark. Even after he had had a skylight cut in the roof, she said it was too dim and refused to sit with him in it. He always sat in there anyway- something about the closeness of the walls and bookshelves comforted him. It reminded him of something, even though he wasn't sure what.

Haruhi always chose to sit in the library, even when she was doing work. The huge windows opened to the garden of their house, and she loved to stare out into the landscaping and sunlight, even if she couldn't be out in it. Sometimes he took a break and went in to see what she was doing, but he'd never been good at making random conversation, so he usually leaned over her, made a comment about a case, and they had a debate. She usually won, and he stalked back to his study.

But she always came by later with a cup of warm mint tea. Everywhere she went, the smell of mint tea followed her. He personally preferred the classic green tea, but Haruhi had to have her mint tea in the evenings after dinner. Most of the time, she sat in the kitchen nook to drink it before she read a story to Aya and went to bed, but sometimes she ventured to the study to give him a cup. They never stayed there long, but he always loved having her there with him. It was his place, and he appreciated her coming inside every now and again.

She always said he sequestered himself too much. Both of their natures were somewhat solitary, so oftentimes they went hours without seeing each other and hardly noticed. Haruhi worked hard, but she had been working from home for the past few years, and the library became her regular haunt. And although Kyouya had to make trips to hospitals around Japan often to manage their resources, he spent most of the time reviewing reports and making calls from home.

There was only a narrow hallway between their two sanctuaries, and Kyouya now peeked into the library's open door, watching the moonlight play shadows across the tall shelves and mat floor. He almost expected to see Haruhi look up from her tea and novel, smile, and ask him if he was ready to go to bed yet. In his mind's eye, he saw the shadow of her hand trail across her face as she brushed her brown hair from her sparkling eyes and soft skin. He saw he small feet pad across the floor, pull her sweater closer, and bid him goodnight before walking slowly to bed.

_We're not exactly normal,_ he thought to himself ruefully, pursing his lips as he pulled the door to his den open and flicked the lamps on. _I don't kiss her goodnight every night. We don't sit together and talk in the evenings. We don't take trips together. I've never cooked dinner for her._ He felt his glasses slipping lower as he traced a finger across the spines of the books on his shelf. However, his hands were full with the tea and a file, so he let them slip.

Haruhi had once tried to pull his glasses off to clean them. However, he'd pulled his face away in irritation, and she hadn't tried again. There were thousands of little moments like that, moments that he knew were simple kinds of love, that he had let go, and now wished he hadn't. He knew he was a very physical, touchy person, and he expressed his love for her that way often. But he never just did little things for her.

As he sat down at his desk, his mind slipped away into the past again.

He saw himself as a college student, a book under his arm and his eyes cool and detached. He was walking across the campus, his rebellious black bangs flopping across the brim of his flashing glasses. His dormitory stood before him, tall and imposing as he approached, the late afternoon sunlight turning it into a huge black monolith. The automated doors whooshed open as he approached, and he briskly walked toward the desk.

"Good afternoon, Ootori-sama," the security person greeted him lazily from behind the glass box. He nodded in affirmation, scanning his residence card efficiently on his way up to his room, just as always. However, when he was about four feet down the hallway, the guard hailed him again.

"Wait just a second!" He emerged from the security box and waved at Kyouya, anxious. In his usual evaluation, he noted that the guard was slightly overweight, thus accounting for his winded condition. "There was a young lady who called for you earlier. She wanted to know if you were in your room, and when I said no, she said she would wait outside until you got home."

Kyouya immediately knew it was Haruhi. It didn't even occur to him that it could have been another girl from the college campus. He just knew it was her. Clipping a crisp "Thank you", he slipped back out the door and scanned the horizon through his critical grey eyes. The usually crowded main walkway was now deserted, the students seeking society on a Friday night out to dinner with their friends.

However, when he looked to his left, he saw her. She was leaned against the wall, her slender arms draped across her lap, her black slacks puddled around her dress shoes. Her hair was still short, but now softly draped across her shoulders and neck, accentuating the whiteness of her skin. Her chest- now slightly larger, he noticed with a twitch of a smile- moved evenly up and down in the easy breath of sleep.

"Haruhi," he said softly, and she stirred, her brown eyes flickering open.

His heart stopped a little when she smiled sleepily up at him. "Good afternoon, Kyouya. I'm sorry- I was tired."

_She's still so innocent._ "What are you doing here?" He didn't mean the question to sound as harsh as it seemed to strike the air.

"I thought I would come by and see you, since the lawyer I am interning with sent me to this part of town." She stood slowly, her blue button-up shifting around her spare figure, now developing hints of curves. "But the security guard said you weren't home."

"I was in class." How long had she been waiting here? His heart fluttered a little in his chest. Strange how this girl was the only one that could do that to him.

"That explains it." She chuckled musically. "You always did study too much." After a short pause, she asked, "I wonder if you want to get tea or something and catch up?"

"I-" He stopped himself from saying _I don't have time for that._ He'd been waiting for her to call him for three years, always stopping himself from stooping to the level of begging for attention by calling her. "If you would like to."

"Well, I would." He noticed a change in her personality- something small, but definitely noticeable. He couldn't name it, though. Curious. "Do you know any good tea shops?"

He stifled himself from laughing and tired to think of the cheapest one. "There's a decent one a block down." In typical Kyouya fashion, he whipped out his phone and clicked open the GPS, locating the shop in a few keystrokes. "Are you okay to walk?"

"I like to walk." Taking a few steps, she looked coyly over her shoulder at him. "I walk a lot at the lawyer shop. I might even be able to walk as fast as you now. You'd be surprised."

"Haruhi?"

"Yes?"

"It's the other way."

Her face flushed a little, and she whirled and drew up beside him in a moment. "Oh."

An awkward second passed, and Kyouya couldn't stifle a chuckle any longer. He'd missed her raw, innocent humor. In fact, he'd just missed her. She laughed hard, and soon, they were both smiling foolishly in the late daylight. The sun himself seemed to be joining in their merriment.

"Come on, let's go." Like a gentleman, he offered her his arm.

"Okay." She placed a hand on the crook of his elbow, and they set off. They had only gone a few feet before Kyouya suddenly felt her fingers wrap around his, and he closed his hand around hers. _Warmth. Pulse. Haruhi._

_Ping. Ping._ The sound of the clock's ticking at 10:30 stirred Kyouya from his reverie, where his head rested on his study desk next to his tea, the same kind that he and Haruhi had shared that day. Without actual hope, he looked at the black phone screen. Nothing.

_Come on, Haruhi. Dial the number. Let me know where you are._


	3. Chapter 3

11:45. Kyouya tapped his foot, staring hard at the screen of his phone. He felt that if he simply willed the call to come in, it must obey the sheer force of his willpower. He'd always had a strong mind- compensation for treatment, his sister had called it; however, it seemed useless against the vast unknown that was his current neediness. _Stupid girl._ He felt his temper welling up, his brow furrowing, his lips curling into a frown.

Drumming his fingers on the railing, the stairs rose up before him like a rippling grey curtain until he mounted the landing. The late November winds bumped their cold sides against the walls of the house, rushing past on their way to find the West across the sea. Crossing the grey carpet, Kyouya leaned his forehead on the rain-streaked glass of the window, his glasses making a lonely _clink_ against the glass. He remembered having these windows put in to replace the blank white wall that had been here.

_We don't need to spend all that on real glass,_ Haruhi had quibbled over the bills._ Double-paned fiberglass would be cheaper._

_They're almost the same price, Haruhi._ He had snatched the page from her in irritation. Honestly, what right did she have when it was his house? _Besides, I want the real glass. It's better quality. And you like old-fashioned things anyway, right?_

She'd looked up at him with her big puppy-brown eyes then, and he'd regretted snapping at her. But he'd held his ground, and they'd gotten the real glass. And he knew that she liked it, even though it was more expensive.

There were all sorts of moments like that, exemplified in objects around their house. The couch in the den had been more expensive than she'd wanted; the bookshelf was taller than she thought it needed to be. Kyouya's nature predisposed him to extravagance, and even though he liked to save money, he knew he could afford it and chose to spend it. Right before she'd left, he'd surprised her with a dinner date, and she'd fiddled with the menu, saying everything was too rich for her taste. In exasperation, he'd finally just ordered something for her.

_You don't need to fuss with the prices. You're leaving for America tomorrow, and I want you to have a good night before you leave. _He'd leaned his chin on his hand, looking across the table at her. She'd put on a little makeup, but he honestly preferred her without it. Something about it reminded him of that horrible pancake mask that the Zuka Club had forced on her for that stupid play all those years ago.

_But it honestly will upset my stomach,_ she'd mumbled, fidgeting with the hem of her dress. _All this expensive stuff does._

_You frustrate me._ He'd been about to launch into a tirade about how she had the right to spend money if she had it when she'd distracted him with a game of candle-war. They'd invented it in college- she'd start blowing on one side to extinguish it, and he had to blow back to keep it from going out. They always ended up bursting out laughing, and that ended the argument.

Withdrawing from the chilly windowpane, he paced back toward the railing by the stairs and looked down toward the bottom floor. HIs gaze lazily wandered across the furnishings and shadows until it came to rest on a broken clock. Three weeks earlier, their housekeeper had knocked it from the mantlepiece and the glass face had shattered. Haruhi had tried to hide her dismay, and Kyouya had threatened to dismiss the housekeeper before his wife intervened. She'd placed it tenderly back on the mantlepiece and left it there. Kyouya planned on having it fixed before she got back, but it gave him pause. Something about the dim light glinting on the shards of glass like tears reminded him of an incident that he had tried his hardest to forget. But soon it washed over him like the tide, bowling him under and filling his eyes with salt water.

He tried to shirk away from the late afternoon sunlight in the halls of his memory. He saw himself storming out of the lecture hall, the professor calling apologies and summons after him. However, he remembered the deafness that his anger imposed upon him, and with his eyebrows pressed low over his stormcloud-colored eyes, he slammed through the doors of the business building and struck out across the commons. Other students offered him frail greetings, and he blew past them like a snowplow through a muddy street. He knew he should try to calm himself, but the force of his voluminous temper pushed him onward, his self-righteous demons continuously pounding on the inside of his skull. _How dare they? Incompetence. Worthless. Useless._

Suddenly, his phone vibrated. Abruptly halting, he whipped his out of his pocket, scoffed when he saw Tamaki's name on the caller ID, and threw the phone onto the grass. _Stupid thing. I'll replace it later._ Personal demons whipping a storm inside his soul, he marched onward, his inner tirade raging.

Before he got far, he heard his name. "Kyouya!" Of the few people that called him by his given name, there was only one who lived near enough to be here now, and he did not want her near him just then. His anger dulled all other senses, taking control and possession of his actions. He stopped, but did not turn. After a pause, Haruhi appeared before him, holding his phone, her brown hair skewed. "Did you drop this?"

"Intentionally." _Why won't she go? Leave me alone._

"You missed a call from Tamaki. He's going to get upset." She sighed and reached to slip the phone back in his pocket. He shifted, moving it out of her reach. When she looked up at him, he saw the confusion in her eyes, and a sliver of apology tried to work its way into him. However, the fury soon elbowed it back. "What is it, Kyouya?"

"I don't want to talk to that idiot. He's useless." Vaguely, he saw his reflection in the crystal of her reading glasses, a slender black column hanging over her in the early twilight.

"Don't be cruel. You know you're still friends." With a swift, efficient movement, she slipped the phone inside her own pocket. "You're so hopeless sometimes."

His fury welled up and spilled over, the thunder in his eyes sparking. "Hopeless?" His quiet word seethed in the empty March air. "Friends?" Without realizing it, his hand rose in the air. The aura of his anger sought a target, and it settled on the small woman in front of him. She suddenly seemed like the center of all of his problems, controlling the marionette strings of his life.

Lashing out, his open hand struck Haruhi hard, sending her to the pavement. Her glasses made a small cracking sound as they landed on the pavement and the glass split into a thousand splinters and fell from the frames.

Silence fell, and he looked down at her in black fury before storming off. The picture of her lying there on the pavement, surrounded by broken glass, seeped down into his heart.

Two miles later, his heart finally realized what he had done. The twilit darkness seeped around his feet, and he felt like sinking to his knees on the pavement. Where the image of Haruhi on the ground had been far back in his mind before, it now nearly took over his vision, the sound of his hand on her skin silencing the sounds of traffic around him. He searched his pocket for his phone, but realized that she had held it for him when he refused to take it, in his fool's anger.

The walk to her apartment seemed a blur to him, but when he arrived, he stood before her door for five full minutes before daring to knock. When he did, it was a soft rap, his knuckles beating his sorrow on the hard wood. "Haruhi," he called softly. When she didn't come to the door, he knocked harder. "Haruhi?"

"What do you want?" Her small voice called from behind the door, the latch rattling.

"Haruhi," he breathed, his heart settling into a hole between his lungs. "I'm sorry. I was angry. Forgive me." _Please. I'm not any good at apologizing._

No answer came, but he heard the lock rattling as she fought with the deadbolt to open the door. The lamplight struck his face, and he felt his heart strain when he saw the bruise on her cheek and the cuts on her hands. At first, she looked down, but her honest brown gaze slowly rose to meet his. He saw then the fear in her eyes, and lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"It's not a dark bruise." She ruefully rubbed the darkness on her soft cheek, letting a small smile creep across her lips. "I don't think anyone will notice."

_God, she's perfect._ He slipped his hand across the bruise, and when she flinched, he winced. Such a soft face. Not made to be beaten. "I'll have your glasses fixed."

She turned her face up, closing her eyes, giving permission. And he lowered his lips gratefully to hers, pressing a soft kiss against her mouth. _I don't want to hurt you. I can't hurt you._

Looking at the glass of the clock in the darkness reminded him of his foolish mistake, and he longed even more to touch his wife's soft, tender skin, protecting her, cherishing her. _Haruhi, how long will you make me wait?_


	4. Chapter 4

Kyouya felt as though the hours should have some sort of countdown. 12:30 come and gone now; if he was still awake when the sun rose, he'd be calling the private police force. One of his business associates worked in San Diego, so he would call to deploy some forces in California to look for his wife.

Haruhi. Why had she never mellowed out like he'd expected her to? She was a constant burr in the face of his inborn wealth. Last week, when he'd called a private meeting of several high-class potential investors at his home, he'd practically begged her to wear something nicer than a blouse and shorts around the house. Of course, begging for him looked more like a grouchy imperative, and she'd told him as much.

_If you really want to impress them, why don't you take them out?_ She'd answered flatly, her nose thin and curious between the panes of her glass. Her enormous brown eyes had fixed on his, wide open and seemingly unblinking. _I mean, I'm a commoner. I could do anything, you know_.

_I am asking politely._ His temper had cropped up, and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck standing up as they always did when he got irritated. The loose collar of his shirt electrified, and he placed a hand on his hip, attempting to appear casual. _They are worth several billion yen each. The American investors have taken a hit in the past few years, so we need the insurance._

_Then don't spend as much on private flights and shipments._ She'd wrinkled her nose to push the glasses back up and looked back down to her book. _Plus, we have a baby crawling around. That might interrupt things._

True enough. She'd won that argument, and he'd held the meeting on the back patio of his brother's house.

_We do have a baby, but she's hardly crawling around,_ he thought resentfully, padding down the hallway to where Aya's door stood partly open. Silky moonlight drifted through despite the Venetian blinds he knew hung over the windows, and with long fingers, he nudged the door open.

His daughter's crib stood off to his right, the rocking chair and numerous chests full of toys and books to the left– most of the toys from Tamaki, the books from Ranka and Kyouya's sister– filling up the remainder of the room.

He'd never been one for sentimentality, even over irresistibly cute things, and so his affection for his daughter manifested itself little in daily life. Most of the cuddling, laughing, and little caresses that defined infancy came from Haruhi, with Kyouya contributing the occasional shoulder ride or small game. He had little memory or experience to draw from, seeing as his own childhood had consisted of ninety percent education and ten percent sleep.

However, he tried harder with Aya.

As he looked down at her over the edge of the crib, he inwardly cringed that Haruhi had entrusted him with the sole care of this small person. Of course, he had Yaya and Shinzo, the maids; however, they were only day help, so at night he was marooned with the baby. Thankfully, she slept through the night most of the time, waking occasionally to whimper for something to eat or to complain of an earache. To his relief, tonight, she slept peacefully with her pink lips parted, her enormous eyes closed, her ashy hair feather-soft on her velvety skin.

Absently, he let a finger trail across Aya's cheek. He'd never cared for babies, really. When his father's acquaintances or clientele brought them to the house, he'd offered perfunctory comments of congratulations and then slipped away, uncomfortable. Really, babies were a nuisance of a phase that people had to suffer through to produce useful children. If he were on his own, he might have sent Aya to some sort of nursery until she was three or four.

Haruhi, though, glowed with every second of the baby. Even with bags beneath her tired eyes, her shoulders weary with carrying the small bundle, her chest swollen with milk, she seemed more alive.

He remembered the day that Tamaki had a child. Of course, like everything Tamaki did, it was unexpected; he remembered receiving a jubilant call from his best friend that he was engaged. Upon inquiring further, he'd found that the girl, one Kurozawa Yumi, had in fact attended Ouran and had frequently requested Tamaki. Flipping through his files, he'd discovered her as a sweet-faced young girl with short black hair, frequently tied up with a blue ribbon, and he remembered handing her cups of tea in that sunny upper room many afternoons.

"Kyouya, you know she was in love with me all the time? I feel like a prince!" Tamaki's eyes were alight with something he hadn't seen in them since... well, for a long time. He couldn't remember precisely when. "She's so smart, and for once, she laughs at all my jokes!"

"That's excellent." Kyouya nodded, crossing his legs under the tablecloth. Since graduating from university, Tamaki had developed an irrational fondness for traditional Japanese fare, and while Kyouya couldn't complain of the restaurant's quality, his choice of the menu did not match the white tablecloths. The sushi was second rate, but at least the sake was plentiful and flavorful. "When is the wedding?"

"My father wanted time to plan, so we've decided on December. Six months should be enough, right?" Tamaki looked thoughtful. "I'm not sure what else planning a wedding entails other than flowers and the party afterward."

"It's a complicated affair. My sister has assured me that she will plan mine to save me the trouble."

Haruhi remained an unspoken detail between them. Tamaki knew, of course; he'd refused to speak to Kyouya for nearly three months after graduation, but when he'd finally come to terms with the fact that Haruhi would never be in love with him the way he was in love with her, the three had struck up their friendship again.

It had been awkward. It was still awkward. Every time Tamaki invited him to something during those years at university, Kyouya was unsure whether to bring Haruhi as his date or come alone. By the time Tamaki got married, he and Haruhi had been on and off dating for three years, and he was debating how to propose.

But the night Tamaki's son was born, he and Haruhi had both been in bed– at their separate apartments, of course– and rushed to Tokyo General Hospital with sleep-creased eyes and rumpled hair. Kyouya had taken the trouble to throw on his clothes from the day, but Haruhi appeared in a wrinkled old t-shirt (one of his own, if memory served) and the baggy trousers she slept in.  
She sent him a weary smile, pale in the fluorescent lights, and he returned it with a ghost of his own. She was still beautiful, despite the harrowing circumstances.

Kaoru greeted them from the waiting area. Hikaru, who had business out of town that night, was there via phone; Hani appeared, but could not say where Mori was that night. From what Kyouya knew, he had love trouble of his own, concerning the heiress of the Sony fortune, but that was privileged information, even to Kyouya's sources.

"Is Tamaki around?" Haruhi asked Kaoru, but the redhead shrugged his shoulders, offering Kyouya a warm smile.  
"He's probably off bugging the nurses somewhere." Kyouya looked off toward the nurses' station and made several quick inquiries. The pig-nosed nurse, after sending a sneaking look of admiration at him, replied:

"Oh, that one. He's been underfoot, and we finally had to chase him off into the wrong wing looking for lavender-flavored water." She winked conspiratorially. "That's what we tell the annoying fathers to get them out of the way."

"Thank you very much." Kyouya returned to his friends and repeated the information, and Haruhi let out a sigh.

"I suppose we'll have to go look for him. He's probably lost somewhere, or in the wrong room." She glanced at Kaoru. "How long have you been here, Kaoru?"

"I just got here, actually. I had a long day and slept through the first phone call." He leaned back against the wall. "I say we just wait here for him to come back. He's sure to show up eventually."

Hani, who had grown two inches after high school but still stood a hair shorter than Haruhi, smiled cheerfully despite the late hours. From what Kyouya had last heard, Hani kept odd hours, and his dojo students were nearly always more awake than he was during the day classes. Now, he looped an arm affectionately through Haruhi's and offered to accompany her on a search for Tamaki. Kyouya said nothing, but nodded when Haruhi looked up at him for affirmation.

"Don't worry! We'll find Tama-chan in no time." Hani waved to the two men left behind, practically pulling Haruhi along beside him. Exhaling, Kyouya seated himself beside Kaoru, who rolled a mischievous glance at him.

"No."

"No what, Kyouya?"

"Haruhi came here on her own, and so did I."

Kaoru sneered mockingly. "I supposed nothing of the kind, but now that you mention it, it is suspicious..."

"Don't go applying your judgement to me." He opened one eye to look at the twin. He'd always had slightly more respect for Kaoru than for his brother, even though he could still barely tell them apart. Some sort of predilection for masochism had impelled the twins to remain looking incredibly similar in haircut and dress, but as they aged, he thought Kaoru's face had taken on a sharper, more worldly edge than Hikaru's. It suited him.

"Hey, hey, it's just a normal thing." He crossed his arms behind his wild hair. "Are you engaged or anything?"

"No." He closed his eyes again, pushing the glasses up on his nose.

"You know, you were the lucky one," Kaoru said suddenly, leaning forward on his knees. "We all wanted to be with her, and you know it. You were just the lucky one who she fell in love with, too."

Surprised, Kyouya sent a sharp look at him. He did not talk about feelings. Ootoris rarely felt anything, much less admitted to feeling things– or so he had thought.

Then he met Tamaki. Then he met Haruhi.

"So don't let that go to waste." Kaoru fixed him with one golden eye, and he felt cornered. Not in a bad way, but certainly surrounded by obligation.

But this was a different kind of obligation, and he knew it. One he wouldn't be loathe to fulfill.  
"I understand."

They fell into friendly silence until Haruhi and Hani returned with a gallivanting Tamaki, his face joyful and his arms full of bottled waters. He defended his wandering by saying that he understood childbirth was a thirsty thing, and Yumi would need a lot of water, and the doctors were unlikely to provide much.

"You really are naive, Tamaki," Haruhi said, crossing her arms and receiving a shellshocked look from the father-to-be. It struck Kyouya then that, had circumstances gone the way Tamaki had wanted them to, it could have been her in that delivery room, swollen with a child... _Tamaki's_ child...

And he couldn't have that. It battered him just to think of it.

The rest of the wait passed quickly, and he remembered little of it. Such arbitrary events of ordinary life failed to move him. He tried to decline holding the baby until Haruhi thrust the tiny boy into his arms, and he became instantly implacably awkward. This tiny thing, so red and wrinkled, surely couldn't be his debonaire best friend's child. It was too malformed, too dark, too fussy. But the glow on the father's face, on the expressions of his surrounding friends, somehow took the edge off reality, and he tried to look at the child with affection.

Tonight, as he stood above his daughter's cradle, that boy was four years old.

Kyouya's breath disappeared from his lungs, and he leaned both elbows on the rail of the cradle, suddenly desperate for his wife's touch.

Why hadn't she called?


End file.
